The Vegeta Question
by Venus Smurf
Summary: Set before Cell Games--Bulma's still trying to decide what to do with Vegeta...
1. Beginnings of Jealousy

A.N.:  Just so you know, you can't hate me.  This is my first DBZ fic, and I refuse to take any blame for the ways in which I might have screwed up.  Blame someone else…the pink hippos, maybe.  

Yes, any mess-ups should definitely be chalked up to the pink hippos.  Trust me, they can take it.  

And no, I'm not really crazy.  Just sleep deprived.

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CHAPTER ONE

She was going to kill him.

Why hadn't she realized it before?  It was all so simple, this solution to her problems.  

So _easy_.  

Complete this uncomplicated task, she told herself, and all her troubles would end.  The pain, the anger…everything currently making her life miserable would be gone, vanished as though it had never been.  She could move on, could pretend that such a one as he had never even existed to torment her.

She should have tried this months ago. 

The irony was incredible.  After everything she'd been through, everything she'd had to endure at his hands, the answer had been before her the entire time—in the shape of a carving knife the size of her arm.  

Bulma Briefs grinned maniacally, lifting the knife with one hand.  She hefted it into the air, testing its weight as her grin widened enough that she feared her cheeks would split.  

This, she mused triumphantly, was going to be the best day of her life.  Vegeta was finally going to get what had been coming to him for so long, and the revenge she had been dreaming of since he'd first come would be complete.

Bulma's grin did not lose any of its intensity as she quickly spun on her heel, slipping through the outer door of her spacious home.  She continued to fiddle with her oversized knife as she made her way towards the training room where she knew her greatest enemy waited, unaware of her intentions.  

Unadulterated excitement spread over her lovely features as she crossed the yard, blue eyes brightening with expectant joy.  She was humming to herself, picturing the expression that her actions would put upon his face.  She would, she reflected, finally be able to wipe that ever-present smirk from his features, erase the arrogance that so grated on her nerves.  

For the first time since she'd met him, _she _would be defeating _him._

She should have brought a camera.  Though the expression on his face would always remain etched into her own memory, she owed it to the rest of her race to immortalize this moment.

Ah, well, she mused.  She wasn't willing to waste any more time by returning to her home for that camera, and her fellow humans would simply have to be content with her descriptions.  She needed to do this before her courage failed completely.

Her pace slowed as she neared the training room, stepping as lightly as possible to keep Vegeta from hearing her approach.  She knew how acute his hearing really was, and she didn't wish to encounter him before she'd had a chance to implement her schemes.  He'd probably try to kill her, after all, if he knew what she planned to do.

Scratch that, she thought suddenly.  He _would _kill her.  As strong as he was, there'd be little _trying _involved.  He could probably snap her spine just by thinking about it.

She shuddered, imagining the many things he could do to her without even breaking a sweat.  Why, she thought bitterly, had _she _been the one to end up with him?  While she was perfectly willing to admit that her home had been the most logical place for him to live, she'd never have thought he could become such a thorn in her side.  No one, she mused, should be _that _disagreeable.

She shook her head, enthusiasm momentarily dimming.  Who'd have thought one Saiyan prince could be so great a burden?  After all his grand words, Vegeta's only interests now seemed to revolve around eating and fighting.

And teasing Bulma…

And blowing things up…

And complaining _incessantly.  _

Yes, she thought sourly, Vegeta was certainly a master at all of these.  It was small wonder he'd made so many enemies.  With his personality, he could have driven even the greatest of saints to madness.

And Bulma wasn't exactly a saint. 

She sighed, unaware that her fingers had tightened around her weapon.  What am I going to do with him? she wondered.  Assuming I can actually do this and not get killed, I'll probably still be stuck with him.  He'd stick around just to irritate me, and it's not like this is really going to change anything.  Why should I even try?

She paused, forward momentum temporarily halting as her blue eyes widened.  "I've gotta be crazy," she muttered.  "I'll never get away with this.  He'll catch me before I can even get close."  She shook her head in dejection.  "What was I thinking?  He's gonna kill me for even considering it."

She closed her eyes, shoulders drooping.  "It'd never work," she sighed.  "He's too strong.  I can't do this by myself."

She stared hard at the ground beneath her feet, wondering where her courage had fled to.  She'd never considered herself to be a weakling, but even the smallest reminder of Vegeta's temper had drained her resolve almost instantly.

What was wrong with her?  Why couldn't she do this?  Was she truly so terrified of him—she who had never balked at anything in her entire life?

She groaned aloud, mouth tightening with self-directed anger as she turned once more and began the long trek back to the house.  "Dende," she fumed under her breath, "I'm such a wimp." 

She glanced at her knife.  "Sorry, buddy," she told the weapon, sighing as she approached the cool darkness of her home.  "I guess you won't be helping me destroy the gravity room, after all."  

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 "Don't you think you're overreacting just a little bit, dear?"  

Bulma didn't even look up at her father as she continued to pace the length of the conservatory, hating the oblivious cheer in his voice.  "No," she snapped.  "I crossed _that _line a long time ago.  This," she enunciated, "is something else entirely."

She sighed, grunting with frustration as she threw herself onto one of the many wooden benches lining the garden paths.  "Come on, dad," she pleaded, finally turning her eyes to his.  "You can't honestly tell me that you _enjoy _having Vegeta around, can you?  He isn't exactly the easiest man to live with."

Her father continued to smile genially as he lifted one hand to scratch the chin of the tiny cat draped across his shoulders.  "Well, no," he admitted softly.  "I suppose not."  

Her father shrugged, and Bulma gritted her teeth in annoyance as the cat began to purr contentedly.  What right did it have to be so happy when she was so miserable?  She would have thought the cat would be more considerate.

"However," her father continued softly as Bulma glared at the creature on his shoulder, "I don't think he's as bad as you say he is.  Nobody can be without a _few_ good qualities, after all.  You just have to look a little harder to find his."

Bulma rolled her eyes, wishing her father wasn't so completely passive and trusting.  "That's what you think," she snapped.  "Why can't anyone else see through him?  He's not the savior you think he is."

Bulma's father chuckled, and his expression was gentle.  "I never thought he was a 'savior'," he replied.  "No matter how strong he is, I know he's just a man."  He glanced at her, and she missed the shrewd appraisal in his eyes.  "Maybe you should give him a chance, Bulma," he offered.  "He might start to grow on you."

Bulma's blue eyes widened with disbelief at her father's complacent acceptance.  "Yeah, like a fungus," she retorted, clenching her fists and looking away.  "How could I possibly start to like him?  He's stubborn and irritable, impossibly self-centered."  She grimaced.  "I can't stand him."

She sighed, still not meeting her father's gaze.  "You have no idea," she said, "how close I came to destroying the gravity room just to chase him away."  She shivered.  "I keep thinking that if I can just tick him off enough, he'll leave us alone." 

She began to pick absently at a loose thread in the hem of her shirt, shivering slightly as her archenemy's face drifted through her mind.  "Am I wrong?" she demanded quietly.  "Am I the only one who hasn't forgotten how dangerous he is—what he tried to do?"  She sighed again, lips twisting with frustration.  "If Goku hadn't interfered," she said, "he would have killed us all.  What makes you think we can suddenly trust him not to slaughter us the next time we turn our backs on him?"

Her father hadn't stopped smiling, though his eyes had become grave as he watched his daughter.  "What makes you think we can't?" he questioned in reply.  "Has he done anything that would make you think we can't trust him?  That would make you continue to fear him?"

Bulma's graceful head snapped up, and her gem-like eyes flashed defiantly.  "I've _never _been scared of him," she hissed.  "I just don't think we can trust him, that's all."

She grunted, pushing herself to her feet.  "I'm going inside," she snapped.  "His Highness will be wanting his dinner soon, and I'd rather not get yelled at for making him wait again."

 She flounced from the conservatory, unaware that her father was still watching her, a bemused smile on his lips.  

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            Bulma slammed the last china plate onto the table, ignoring her mother's wince as the porcelain clinked against the hard wood.  "Be careful, Bulma," she chided.  "Those were your great-grandmother's."

            Bulma rolled her eyes, choosing not to respond to her mother's comment as she finished setting the table.  Her stormy expression didn't lift as she slid into a chair, eyes riveted on the nearest door.  "Any minute now," she muttered to herself.  "Wait for it…"

            A door slammed somewhere in the house, and a moment later a deep voice echoed through the hallways.  "Dinner had better not be late again, woman!" 

            The owner of that voice quickly appeared, a stocky silhouette completely filling the doorway.  Vegeta's black eyes met hers, and she couldn't suppress the wave of irritation that rose in her as she noticed the blatant mockery in his gaze.  

Her blue eyes roved over his well-built frame as he entered the room, automatically cataloguing the faults in his appearance.  She frowned, seeing that his blue training uniform was soaked with sweat, singed and torn by his efforts to improve his skills.  Dirt and grease streaked his face, and his black hair was littered with strips of twisted metal.  

She sighed, recognizing the metal as remnants of the equipment she'd recently installed in the gravity room.  She wondered how many hours she'd need to repair whatever damage Vegeta had done this time, and she wished she'd gone through with her original plan to dismantle the training area herself.       

            Bulma rolled her eyes, leaning back in her chair as her unwanted guest stomped into the room, wordlessly sliding into the space opposite hers.  He didn't so much as glance up as he began to load his plate with the food she had so carefully prepared, and Bulma's features twisted with irritation.  "You could at least say 'thank you'," she snapped, annoyed by his rudeness.  

            He didn't even lift his head.  "Thank you," he muttered, voice heavily laden with sarcasm as he continued to eat at a rate that would have made even a pig wince.  Bulma turned away, unable to watch.  "You're such a jerk, Vegeta," she growled.

            She glanced once more at him when he didn't respond, and her lips curled with disgust at his contemptible way of eating.  "Why don't you slow down?" she demanded suddenly.  "You're going to choke if you keep shoveling everything down like that."

            She sighed, but he still didn't raise his eyes.  "Never mind," she muttered.  "I take it back.  Go ahead and choke."  She looked away, her own appetite killed by his actions.

              The phone rang as the tension in the room continued to build, and Bulma grinned with relief at the interruption.  She leapt to her feet, darting nimbly past her gawking mother as she lunged for the receiver suspended on the wall.  "Hello?" she demanded, breathing heavily from her unanticipated sprint. 

            Her quick greeting was answered by a deep chuckle.  "Hey, baby," a masculine voice laughed from the other end of the line.  "You sound like you're out of breath.  You okay?"

            Bulma's eyes lit with genuine pleasure, and her lips widened in a quick grin that she knew her boyfriend would never see.  "Yamcha!" she exclaimed, overjoyed to hear his voice.  "I'm fine—I just didn't expect to hear from you so soon.  How's the seminar?"

            He laughed again.  "Wonderful," he replied.  "I've been trouncing some of the greatest fighters on this planet—and getting paid a ridiculous amount of money to do it."  She could almost sense the grin that must have been upon his lips, and her eyes glittered with affection.  "I haven't had this much fun in years," he said.

            "Is that so?"  She laughed brightly, unaware that her voice had lightened flirtatiously.  "More fun than when you're with me?"

            "Never," Yamcha quickly declared, and her grin widened.  "As great as this is, you know I'd rather be home with you."

            She shook her head in fond exasperation at his patented gallantry, her lips still twisted in an easy smile.  "Now I _know _you're lying, Yamcha," she teased.  "You're having the time of your life, and we both know it.  You've probably forgotten all about me."

            She sighed, smile fading slightly as the truth of her words momentarily silenced her.  No matter how much she and Yamcha cared for each other, she was perfectly aware that she wasn't the greatest focus in his life.  

            "Are you sure you're okay?"  Her boyfriend's question broke the sudden silence growing between them, and the frown lingering in Bulma's eyes disappeared.  After all the years they'd been together, Yamcha must have sensed the weariness in her voice.  

The sudden concern in his own words chased a few of the shadows from her heart, and her expression brightened once more.  For the moment, she vowed to forget her doubts and the problems between them.  There'd be time enough, later, she thought, to confront her fears.

            "I just miss you," she quickly replied, not wanting him to question her thoughts any more than he already had.  "It's been an eternity since I saw you last."  She turned, pressing her back against the wall as she calmed herself.  "When are you coming home?"

            She tried to keep the plaintive tone from her voice, though a quick glance at Vegeta's face told her she hadn't been entirely successful.  He was watching her, food momentarily forgotten as he listened almost attentively to her side of the conversation.  One dark eyebrow had arched in the mockery she so hated, and his lips had twisted with derision. 

            Bulma knew him well enough to realize that her words and expression must have reinforced his oft-stated opinion that she, as a human and a female, was far weaker than he.

            She scowled at Vegeta, turning her back on him as she refocused her attention to Yamcha's words.  "I've still got six weeks, baby," he was telling her.  "Much as I want to, I can't leave yet.  I'm under contract."

            Bulma rubbed absently at her temple, feeling tired.  "I know," she whispered, "and I'd never ask you to leave early."  She caught her bottom lip with her teeth, trying to shrug off her uneasiness.  "Like I said, I just miss you."

            She forced a smile back onto her lips, knowing that both Vegeta and her mother were watching her closely.  "Don't worry about me, Yamcha," she told him.  "I can hold out until you come back to me."  She grinned suddenly, eyes sparkling with mischief.  "Just don't make me wait too long.  Some other guy might come along and sweep me off my feet before you can get back."

            Yamcha had quieted, and she wondered if he'd even heard her.  Then, as the muscles in her neck tightened with the tension of this conversation, he quietly replied, "You got it, baby.  Just don't forget that you love me."

            Her smile became genuine.  "Of course I love you, Yamcha," she murmured.  "If I didn't, I'd have dumped you long ago."  She grinned again, not giving him an opportunity to reply as she replaced the phone on its cradle.  

            The smile was still upon Bulma's face as she turned back around, only now realizing that her mother had left sometime during her conversation.  Only Vegeta remained within the room, and his scowl, she saw, had deepened.

            She stared at him, wondering at the fury she glimpsed in his eyes.  "Something wrong, Vegeta?" she snapped, angered by the intensity of his glare.  

            He shrugged, and the mask of arrogance dropped back over his features.  "Your affairs don't concern me, woman," he snapped.  Then, without another word, he turned and left her alone.


	2. Repairs

A.N.:  All right, I take my earlier comments back.  At this point in time, it doesn't look like this is going to have a plot, after all.  

Well, at least not a plot that involves real fighting or enemies or anything.  Unless something changes drastically, this is just going to be your basic Veggie/Bulma mush.  

I'll write a fighting story later, maybe, but this is all you're going to get from me at the moment.  

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CHAPTER TWO

Bulma scowled, blue eyes narrowing dangerously as the electrical panel she'd spent the last half hour trying to remove continued to remain stubbornly in place.  She stared at the dull metal, a scream of frustration hovering on her lips for this blatant disobedience to her unspoken wishes.  

This panel was confusing her, and she couldn't find any reason for the lack of movement.  She'd already taken off the screws, already released the secondary hooks she'd installed for safety purposes.  Why wouldn't the thrice-cursed sheet of metal come _off_?

She untwisted her legs, stretching the slender limbs to either side of her as she tried to find a more comfortable position on the floor of the gravity room.  She didn't see any reason to continue her discomfort, especially since, if matters continued as they were, she'd be here for quite some time.  

She bent forward, pushing herself closer as she attempted to find the source of her frustration.  The panel blinked back at her under the artificial lights of the room, and she wondered if an inanimate object could truly be mocking her.

She rolled her eyes, wishing she could just resort to using the blowtorch she'd stashed in her workshop many years before.  If only she didn't have to worry about fusing the delicate circuitry behind the panel…

"Wait a second," she muttered softly, eyes widening with sudden inspiration.  Why hadn't she thought of this immediately?  "I'm such an _idiot_!" she exclaimed, chuckling.  She shifted position, a light grin on her lips as she began to run slender fingers along the edges of the panel.  

Her delicate brow furrowed in concentration, but her movements were steady and patient as she continued to trace the edges.  Her fingers encountered nothing more incriminating than a few spots worn smoother than they should be, but her smile only widened.  She knew, now, what had happened.

Vegeta must have allowed a stray blast of energy to hit the equipment.  He probably hadn't been paying attention—or simply hadn't cared enough to protect the very circuitry that allowed him to continue training in the first place.  Either way, the heat from his attacks must have melted parts of the panel itself, making a quick removal and a quick repair impossible.  

Bulma's smile faded suddenly, her mouth now twisting in anger.  What had the poor gravity room done to deserve this?  Better yet, what had _she _done to deserve this?  Vegeta hadn't yet seemed to realize that she had better things to do with her time than constantly repair the equipment he hadn't earned the right to use in the first place.  

"Stupid Vegeta," she muttered, blue eyes still roving over the metal.  How was she supposed to get this thing off?  Had the panel been located anywhere else, she wouldn't have hesitated simply to use a sharp knife or laser cutter.  As it was, she couldn't risk further damaging the circuitry behind the metal.  

She'd already spent too long on this task, but she knew she'd never be given the time she needed to do this as well as she should.  As vital as this section of the gravity room was, Vegeta would never allow her to _properly _complete the repairs.  He would insist that she simply get the training room working without concern for long-term functions.  Then, when the machine inevitably failed again, he'd scream at her for not doing her 'job'. 

Of course, she thought tiredly, she really didn't have to worry about the future of her equipment.  Knowing the habits of her unwanted houseguest as well as she did, she realized that the gravity room would probably be in ruins before the week was out, anyway.

Bulma sat back, lifting one grease-stained hand to push the fringe of aqua hair from her eyes.  She didn't realize that her movements had left a streak of black across her forehead, though that streak was lost beneath so many others that she wouldn't have cared if even Yamcha had seen her in this state. 

Her frown returned as an image of a considerably less agreeable man regained control of her thoughts, and she sighed.  Why did Vegeta have to be this way?  She'd been fairly generous to him, all things considered.  She'd given him a home, provided his meals and his support—all without question or complaint.  

Well, without _too _much complaint, anyway.  She'd made no qualms about her feelings for him, of course, but she'd also done nothing to actively chase him away.

Actually, no, she thought suddenly.  She wasn't being entirely truthful, even to herself.  Hadn't she been on the verge of destroying this same gravity room only the day before?  She'd wanted to chase him away, to make him mad enough to leave her alone.  She'd been too much of a chicken to follow through, of course, but the intention had still been within her mind.  

Was it a crime to want to hurt a man who'd tried to do—and was still doing—the same to her?  

"Ah, well," she muttered, shrugging gently.  "He may be a necessary jerk, but he's still a jerk.  No court would ever convict me for doing _anything _to him, especially if they'd met him first."

She stared at the panel for a moment longer, blue eyes willing the metal to separate without requiring any more effort on her part.  "Stupid Vegeta," she growled again, knowing the metal wouldn't be very compliant to her desires.   "Stupid _Saiyans_.  They've just got to destroy everything they touch, don't they?  Can't just bloody well be _careful _for once in their lives."   

She sighed again, leaning back and pushing herself off the floor while she stared at the hated panel.  "That does it," she snapped to herself.  "If Vegeta wants me to fix this thing, he has to help me.  I'm tired of doing everything on my own."  She stood, shaking her head.  "Stupid, lazy, good-for-nothing _monkey_."

"You'd better not be talking about me, woman."  

Bulma shrieked as Vegeta's deep voice startled her from her frustrated reverie.  She spun to face him, eyes wide and angry as she fought to regain the balance she'd almost lost to his sarcastic and unexpected greeting.  "Don't _do _that," she snapped in quick response, fighting an urge to stamp her foot like a spoiled child.  

She glared at him, wishing he had the decency to relieve her wounded pride with even the smallest signs of his own weakness.  She knew he wouldn't give any, of course, and she almost groaned as his black eyes met hers, glinting with the mockery he was never without.

Her glare deepened as she stared at him, cerulean eyes darkening with anger at this muscular, impossibly frightening man before her.  He didn't react to her fury, instead maintaining his overly casual position at the entrance to this little domain.  His arms were crossed over his broad chest as he watched her, leaning against her doorway with an ease she knew he never really felt.  His sharp eyes bored into hers, and she almost shuddered under the intensity of his gaze.

He scowled, and her own eyes narrowed suddenly.  How much of her mutterings had he heard?  Vegeta wasn't an overly large man, but she was always surprised by the silence with which he sometimes moved.  For all she knew, he could have been watching her for quite some time, listening to her conversation with herself, and she would not have been aware.

"How long have you been there?" she demanded as he continued to stare at her, making her feel more self-conscious than Yamcha ever had.  She wondered, idly, if he'd come to yell at her again.

Go ahead, _buddy_, she thought, giving him a scowl of her own.  I'm in the mood for a fight, even one that I might not necessarily walk away from.  Do your worst—_I dare you.  _

He hadn't answered her question, and she rolled her eyes in annoyance.  Could nothing about this man ever be easy?  She forced herself to step towards him, though she wanted only to run until she found a place where those penetrating eyes of his couldn't follow her.  

She stared at him in return, still feeling more than her fair share of unease.  "Did you want something?" she finally asked, keeping her voice soft lest she betray her true thoughts.  

He still didn't answer, and she shrugged and turned away.  Though her instincts told her not to leave her back exposed to this man, his eyes were too intense.  She chose, instead, to stare down at the tools she'd gathered in anticipation of her task, keeping her gaze away from Vegeta's.  

She took a deep breath, not allowing herself to forget the resolution she'd made only a moment before.  "You're not doing anything right now," she murmured suddenly, "so you can help me fix this.  I'm not physically strong enough to make the repairs on my own, and I'll move faster if I have someone else working on this with me."

She glanced at Vegeta over her shoulder, noticing that he was still staring at her.  "You can't train until I fix this stupid thing, anyway," she informed him, forcing away her unease, "so you might as well be useful."  

He didn't move, and she pushed her hair from her eyes once more.  "Come on, Veggie," she snapped, deliberately using the name he hated most.  "I don't have all day.  Believe it or not, I _do _have other chores, you know.  I can't sit around waiting for you to jump-start that single brain cell of yours."  

She pointed rather imperiously towards the panel, giving a quick, sarcastic smile that she knew wouldn't pacify him against her own rudeness.  "I can't cut that thing off without causing more trouble," she explained, tone rather bland, "but I need to get inside if I'm going to fix the gravity room.  Be a sweetheart and just rip it off for me, will you?  Ironically enough, you'll cause less damage with your fingers than I could with every tool at my disposal."

Her smile widened with genuine humor at that, and Vegeta stared at her in clear surprise.  Then, as her eyes began to narrow with impatience once more, he reluctantly came forward.  She stepped aside, letting him move past her to access the panel.  She pointed to the piece she needed him to remove as he bent down, pressing his gloved fingers into the metal with just enough force to rip apart the fused sides.   

After her many frustrations with this harmless bit of metal, Bulma's joy at seeing the job done with such ease overcame her common sense.  She knelt beside Vegeta as he tossed the thing aside, unconsciously using his shoulder for balance as she examined his handiwork.  

She didn't notice that his body had stiffened with her thoughtless action, and she didn't realize that his eyes had become a thousand times more intense than ever before as he turned to stare at her.  His features tightened, and he glanced quickly away from her dirty, smiling face.  

Bulma's grin widened as she leaned towards the newly exposed circuitry.  "This is great," she laughed, letting her blue eyes assess the damage.  "It isn't nearly as bad as I'd thought it would be.  I can have this fixed in less than ten minutes."

She stood again, releasing Vegeta's shoulder as she bent to retrieve one of her more useful tools.  "Thanks, Vegeta," she said, and her hatred of him was momentarily lost beneath the clear gratitude in her voice.  "It may not seem like a big deal to you, but I couldn't have done this without your help."  

She smiled at him, forgetting, for the time being, just whose responsibility this truly was.  Vegeta's instant flinch went unnoticed once more as she laughed brightly, meeting his eyes for the first time since he'd come to this room.  "Remind me to call you if I ever find a jar I can't open," she teased, voice lightening with unexpected humor.   

He looked away, scowling more fiercely than even she had ever seen him and seemingly unwilling to meet her laughing, aqua-colored eyes.  She only shrugged in response, however, not really caring that he'd become angry again.  This was, after all, his normal state of mind, and she'd stopped noticing long ago.  

Bulma turned back to her panel, seeming almost to forget her unwilling assistant as she began to readjust the tool she'd just picked up.  "At this rate, I might have time to go shopping, after all," she said, now speaking more to herself than to her dark-eyed companion as she returned to the panel, tool in hand.  "I've been wanting to pick out a gift for Chichi's birthday party next week," she explained, "but I haven't had time before now."   

She glanced at him from the corners of her eyes, and, in spite of her earlier frustrations, her gaze somehow remained light.  "I've been too busy _fixing_ things to go shopping," she told him, tone only a little more severe than usual.  She looked away again as he continued to glare at her, his own black eyes narrowing.

Bulma shook her head, still absurdly cheerful as she bent and examined the damage once more.  "Chichi," she declared softly, "wouldn't have understood if I'd just given her an I.O.U.  She can pretty scary when she's mad, and she would've _killed_ me if I didn't bring something decent to give her."  She sighed, grinning ruefully.  "For someone who lives in boonieville," she laughed, "Chichi's strangely picky about her gifts."

The young human thrust her hand into the circuitry, ignoring the sparks now erupting from the more damaged portions.  "You know," she continued, voice becoming thoughtful as she began to repair the machinery with an almost blatant disregard for the possibilities of electrocution, "you should come with me.  You're invited to the party, too, of course, and you can't really show up without a present.  It's tacky, not bringing a gift."

She turned to glance at him, smiling brightly.  "Besides," she added cheerfully, "you're in just as much danger from Chichi's wrath as I.  She won't be any more likely to forgive _you _for neglecting her than she would be to forgive me, you know.  For all that she's human, she's still a dangerous lady, and you shouldn't make her mad by not bringing a suitable present.  She'd probably sic Goku on you, if you made her angry enough."

Her smile widened into a grin, though she didn't look at Vegeta again as she began reattaching a few loose cables.  "She has quite the temper, does Chichi.  Sometimes, I think her anger is the only thing that's helped her survive a marriage with Goku."

Bulma continued with her work, not caring that he still hadn't responded to her words.  She didn't often notice his silences anymore, and she was too focused on her task to be concerned with his inability to form polite conversation.  She simply chose to continue talking, speaking with the assumption that he wasn't really listening, anyway.  

"The party is supposed to be something special," she continued, reaching out to carefully grip a particularly thick coil.  "Chichi's still mad at Goku for forgetting their last anniversary, and he's been trying to make it up to her for a solid _year_.  Poor man—he really didn't know what he was getting into when he married the Ox King's baby girl."  

She pushed her head into the panel itself, absently handing Vegeta the tool she'd been using as she began the actual repairs using only her bare fingers.  He took it automatically, scowling as she pushed her face a little too close to the sparks.

"Of course," she mused aloud, unaware of his expression, "Goku'll probably end up ruining his own plans.  He's a great guy, but he's not terribly reliable unless the situation is life-threatening.  He's just as likely to forget that he's trying to get on her good side as not, and then Chichi will be _really _angry with him."

She reached back, never actually turning her head as she attempted to take back the tool she'd given him.  Her attention was focused elsewhere, however, and she grabbed Vegeta's wrist instead.  He tensed again as her cool fingers grazed his skin, though Bulma continued not to notice.

The sparks still coming from the panel had captured the bulk of her attention, and she still didn't turn to look at him.  Her questing fingers simply slid over his hand, lightly brushing his fingers as she finally latched onto the tool.  

She tugged gently, already eyeing the section meant to hold this bit of wire.  He didn't resist her, and Bulma took the coil back into her own hands.  She stared at it for a second, frowning as she realized that the ends of the wiring had melted beyond recognition.

She leaned back on her heels, reaching into her belt for the wire clippers she usually carried.  She pulled the clippers free, using them to trim the edges of the wire.  Then, going back to her original position, she began to reattach the piece.  

"So," she asked suddenly, "what do you want to get her?  You're not the closest of friends, of course, so you can probably get away with some meaningless trinket."  Her faced scrunched into a thoughtful expression.  "Candles, maybe?" she mused aloud.  "No," she answered, "Chichi doesn't really go in for that sort of thing.  What about music?  CD's?"

Vegeta scowled again as she continued to mutter to herself, speaking for the first time since he'd found her in this room.  "I'm not going," he snapped.  "I'm a prince of Vegetasai, not some silly peasant with nothing better to do than spend time with a bunch of backwards human yokels.  Count me out."

Bulma rolled her eyes yet again.  "You're such a jerk, Vegeta," she complained, irritation overcoming the temporary truce they'd been under.  "It's the least you can do, after everything that's happened."  

She turned to glare at him, sparks flaring in her gem-like eyes.  "Besides," she growled, letting him know that she wouldn't brook an argument over this, "I'm not leaving you here by yourself.  You'd probably wreck the entire house, and not even _I_ can afford the repair bills you'd wrack up."

She turned back to her work, favoring him with one last, angry glance.  "It's bad enough that I'm constantly having to replace the parts for the gravity room—I'm not going to give you free run of my house, Vegeta.  You're coming with me, whether you like it or not."

She pulled her head free at last, leaning back on her heels again as she breathed a deep sigh of pure relief.  "There," she said, "the problem's been taken care of, at least for now."  

Bulma turned back to Vegeta, and her eyes were hard.  "But don't even think about coming back in here for at least a day, Veggie.  I'm not letting you ruin my entire week by wrecking the place again."  She stood, one hand on her hip.  "Besides," she growled, "_we're_ going _shopping_."


	3. Stupid Monkey

A.N.: Okay, I have a confession to make, and it's going to make some of you terribly unhappy with me. In the last chapter, Bulma planned to drag our favorite monkey-boy along on a shopping trip. The bad news? I never actually intended for him to go. I mean, seriously, can we see Vegeta doing something he doesn't want to do—even for Bulma? Sorry, guys, but it's just not going to happen. Besides, it's a little clichéd, the whole shopping thing. I just can't make myself do it, though I'm sure there would have been some great moments if I had.

Also, I was asked why Chichi would even care if Vegeta didn't show at her shin-dig. She hates him, right? She wouldn't bat an eye if he dropped off the face of the earth, so why would she care if he didn't come? Well, first off, Chichi's not the one who invited Vegeta. _Goku _did, mainly because Goku's really naïve—'naïve' being a tactful way to say 'stupid'—and he considers Vegeta to be a friend or something. Chichi would get mad only because she'd see Vegeta's refusal as an insult to Goku, and, being Chichi, she'd have to take it personally.

Okay, so it's not a great explanation, but I'm glad the question was asked. Just remember that this story is only fluff and not meant to be taken too seriously. Keep reviewing for me, though, and keep sending the feedback. I really do appreciate it!

Also, people have been asking to put this story on their sites. I don't have time to submit it myself, but feel free to pinch it. As long as I get credit, I don't mind at all. Just put the name of the site in a chapter review so I can check 'em out later.

**AND SEE MY AUTHOR'S PAGE FOR VERY IMPORTANT UPDATING INFO!**

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RECAP: Vegeta messed up the gravity room, so Bulma forced him to help her fix the damage. Then, partly to get back at him, she decided to force him to go on a shopping trip.

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CHAPTER THREE: Stupid Monkey

Bulma had, in her short life, built up quite the reputation—for her temper, for her intelligence, for the thousand other qualities that made her who she was. She was known as being neither a patient nor a stupid woman, but extraordinary genius aside, she still didn't realize that Vegeta had disappeared on her until after the entire morning was lost.

She was, of course, absolutely furious. "Stupid monkey!" she snarled, over and over again, and her mantra lost none of its potency for the fact that the dyspeptic Saiyan prince was not around to hear her words. She continued to pace the confines of her home, anger radiating from her every pore. Her entire face had quickly become red with her fury, and her blue eyes held fire.

"STUPID MONKEY!"

There was nothing she could do. Bulma had never thought of herself as being particularly in tune with her handsome, hated houseguest, but even she was surprised to realize that she hadn't been able to predict his actions, this time. Vegeta had vanished, and Bulma, who knew him better than most and would have had a greater chance of finding him than any other, couldn't even begin to guess where he might have gone. In all the time he'd been living with her, she just couldn't think of a single occasion when he'd actually left their home for anything other than some to-the-death fight. He didn't have any hobbies outside of fighting, so it's not like he'd just taken the day off to go to a movie or something. Where was he? Didn't he understand that she was going to make his life miserable for bailing on her? He really was just a stupid monkey, if he thought she'd let him get away with this.

She wasn't worried for him. Even if he had gotten into trouble in so short a time—and with his abrasive personality, this wasn't as unlikely as it would have been with anyone else—he was certainly strong enough to defend himself against anything he might encounter. This lack of worry aside, however, Bulma was still irritated. She'd been looking forward to this shopping trip for quite some time, and she'd truly wanted Vegeta to go with her, if only to have someone available to cart her many bags home afterwards.

Bulma scowled, finally accepting that she would now be forced to make this trip alone. She sighed as she returned to her bedroom, pausing just long enough to run a brush through her blue hair before gathering her purse and setting out on her own. Her car was already waiting for her outside, courtesy of one of the robotic servants, and she pulled aside the door to the vehicle and situated herself inside. Then, just before she started the engine and drove away, she paused once more, glaring up at the sky overhead. Her eyes were still flashing with anger, her mouth still pressed into a tight line. She shoved her head through the car's window, glaring at the innocent clouds drifting through the morning sky.

"HEY, VEGETA!" she yelled, her cry loud enough to send birds and small animals fleeing for safety, "I KNOW YOU'RE OUT THERE SOMEWHERE, YOU STUPID MONKEY! YOU CAN HIDE FOR NOW, BUT DON'T THINK YOU'RE GOING TO GET AWAY WITH THIS! IF I COME BACK TO A BROKEN HOUSE, I'LL MAKE YOU WISH YOU'D _STAYED_ DEAD!"

Bulma pulled her head back inside the car, feeling strangely relieved as she drove away. She doubted that Vegeta had actually heard her, but she felt better than she had in a long, long time.

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Vegeta had still not returned when, hours later, Bulma's shopping trip finally ended. The slender, blue-haired woman was still fuming as she dragged herself into her home, arms so laden with bags that she wondered exactly how much time she would have before her limbs fell off altogether. She stumbled through the door, a strained expression on her lovely face as she attempted to carry her purchases as far as the kitchen table…not that she'd really expected to make it, of course. Her bags were just too heavy, and part of her felt almost glad when her arms finally gave out. The bags tumbled to the floor, but Bulma felt only a perverse sense of satisfaction as she heard a few of her more frivolous purchases shattering into millions of tiny pieces. Something else to blame Vegeta for, she thought, choosing not to realize about how petty she sounded, even to herself. 

"Stupid Vegeta," she muttered, repeating words she'd used roughly ten thousand times since the older man had moved in with her. "If he'd just come with me, this would never have happened." She frowned, surveying the mess she'd created with frustration clear in her blue eyes. "He could have carried all of this without breaking a sweat. Heck," she muttered, "he could even have carried _me_—and then I wouldn't have so many blisters from walking around all day!"

She grinned suddenly. Now _there _was a thought, she mused, not caring that she still hadn't kicked this awful habit of talking out loud. The idea definitely had possibilities, though Bulma couldn't even imagine Vegeta ever actually doing something like that. She knew he had a thing against so much as _touching_ humans, even those he was around all the time and should be used to, like her. Maybe, though, she could find a way to blackmail him into carrying her, just for kicks...and then find someone to photograph the event so she could relive it on those days when Vegeta got too much for her. Of course, she'd have to find someone with a death wish to take the picture, she mused, laughing, because Vegeta would want to kill anyone involved, afterwards.

Then again, his wanting to kill someone would hardly be a deterrent for _her_, of course. She wasn't scared of Vegeta, even in his worst moods, and the thought of tormenting him was sometimes all that kept her going. Besides, Vegeta was _always_ trying to kill people. As far as she could tell, it was more or less his only pastime.

Not exactly a well-rounded individual, was Vegeta.

Bulma laughed over that for a very long time, but she would decide, later, that Dende had a really twisted sense of humor. Either that, or the universe itself hated her. Why else would Vegeta have chosen that very moment to finally come crawling back into her life, if _someone _didn't hate her? The images she'd invoked in her mind had already left her gasping with laughter, and she hadn't been quite prepared for the Saiyan prince when, still chuckling, she turned around and found him standing in the doorway. Once again, she couldn't even begin to guess how long he'd been there, watching her in silence with that ever-present scowl on his face. His dark eyes were unreadable, and she immediately tried to choke down her now slightly more than dangerous sense of humor, not wanting to provoke him into another fight until she was back in control of herself. She dropped her eyes from his, unnerved, as always, by the intensity of his gaze and the intensity of his silence.

Her initial goal had simply been to look away from Vegeta's face, but her eyes, no longer focused only on his, instead drifted almost mindlessly down to the corded muscles of his arms. Perhaps, since she'd been thinking about them lifting her only seconds before, it was natural that she should gaze at his arms rather than at something more innocent—assuming there actually _was _anything innocent in Vegeta—but it was the last place she should have looked, and the irony of it was that she normally wouldn't have given them a second thought. Still, it was her first mistake.

She stared at his arms for a long moment, and for the first time in her very complicated life, Bulma wasn't capable of forming an intelligent thought. The sight of those arms, the strength she could see in them—clichéd though it was, it quite literally took her breath away. She found herself becoming fascinated, almost hypnotized, by the way the muscles played against each other under his tanned skin. She'd always known Vegeta was strong, but only now did she truly realize just how much sheer _power _the man exuded…and while that didn't exactly frighten her, the uneasiness nestling in the pit of her belly only grew.

She tore her eyes from his arms, forced them upwards again. It might just be safer, she'd suddenly decided, to look Vegeta in the eyes again rather than continue to stare at his arms like an idiot. The Saiyan prince did not, after all, suffer fools gladly, and she knew perfectly well that he wouldn't appreciate her gaping at him like this. He'd take it as an insult, and then she certainly wouldn't be able to avoid that fight. So she glanced up, made her second mistake of the day. Vegeta was staring back at her with even more anger than usual, and he didn't look at all pleased with the way she was behaving. He looked disgusted, in fact, as though he couldn't believe that a mere human woman would have the audacity to ogle him as she wouldn't quite admit she'd been doing. His glare only deepened as she now stared into his face, just as caught by the fierceness of his eyes as she'd initially been by his strength.

What was _wrong _with her today? She knew she was being more than a little stupid, knew she was probably risking her life just to look at him for so long. He wouldn't take her idiocy well, and even if he didn't try to kill her right away, she knew she'd still have to hear about it later. Vegeta wouldn't let this slide, not for anything. He'd taunt her about it for weeks, and that was only if she was very lucky and he was in a good mood.

Of course, Vegeta didn't seem to _have_ good moods, not ever, so maybe she should just give up and slit her own wrists right then and there…

Bulma mentally shook herself, and while she stayed calm enough on the outside, she was absolutely kicking herself on the inside. She bit her lip, sighed, and debated whether or not she should just cut her losses and look away, or if she'd be better off by continuing to look Vegeta in the eyes. After only a moment's hesitation, though, she decided to shift her eyes to the mess still at her feet.

That was her third mistake, and she realized it almost immediately. She'd known, of course, that she couldn't just look completely away. Vegeta, stupid monkey that he was, would have taken that as some sort of challenge, and he would immediately have started the fight that she'd been so eager to avoid. Nor could she have continued staring into his face. That, too, would have been a challenge, and Vegeta was too stubborn to break the meeting of their eyes himself. He never backed down, did Vegeta, and it just wasn't in his nature to let a _human _win anything, even a staring contest.

He made a sound so deep in his throat that it might almost have been a growl, and she fought to keep the nervousness down. She forced herself to remain in place, and, since she knew her attempt to pacify Vegeta had failed already, she brought her eyes back to his face. She glared at him, hating him with every bone in her body, wishing she'd never met him and still wondering if there was any possible way to get rid of him. "Would you _stop _glaring at me like that?" she snapped, irritated beyond endurance. "I didn't even do anything to you this time, you stupid monkey!"

His glare only intensified, of course, but his handsome face twisted in that characteristic smirk, and she found herself wanting so very badly to hit him. She knew she wouldn't be able to, though. Vegeta was one of the strongest fighters the universe had ever seen, and he would certainly be able to dodge the blow of an untrained human woman. Still, Bulma had never been one to deny an impulse, however dangerous it might be, and if she couldn't hit him herself, she could still do the next best thing, couldn't she? The blue-haired woman took a quick step back, reached out with one slender hand, fingers twisting around an object she'd left on the counter that morning. It was heavy in her hand, but moving so quickly that another human would never have noticed or been able to react in time, she threw it at him anyway.

Time seemed to slow down, for Bulma. The frying pan that she'd just thrown flew through the air, turning on itself as it went, but Bulma had more than enough time to turn her gaze back to Vegeta. He was still staring at her, his eyes glued to hers though his face remained completely impassive, not seeming to have noticed her homemade weapon as it spiraled towards him. And just as Bulma was realizing that her actions had been borderline suicidal, the pan hit Vegeta smack dab in the middle of his forehead.

_Oh, Dende, _she thought, panicked, _he's going to kill me for sure…_

His reaction wasn't anything like she'd expected. She'd thrown the thing hard enough to give anyone else a concussion or crack open a skull, but Vegeta didn't so much as blink. He didn't move in the slightest, only remained standing exactly where he was, watching her with the smirk still in place. His stare was unnerving and almost offensive, so much so that all thoughts of impending death flew from Bulma's mind. _How dare he stare at me like that! Just because I can't hurt him doesn't mean he gets to look at me like I'm nothing! _Fury rose in place of her fear, the flames of her anger making her already beautiful eyes glitter, bringing a bit of color to her pale cheeks. "I told you to stop staring at me, monkey-boy!" she snarled at the prince. "Don't you ever _listen_?"

He was watching her still, and she thought she could detect the faintest hint of amusement in his glittering black eyes. "Why?"

She didn't know if he was wondering why he should listen to her or if he was simply asking why she didn't want him looking at her all the time, but the second question was easier to answer. "Because it's creepy, that's why!" She threw her hands up, disgusted enough that she entirely forgot to be nervous. "Do you stare at me that way because you haven't figured out how to blink?" she demanded angrily. "Or is this just another one of your weird stalker issues?"

_That _caught his attention, even if nothing else had. "Stalker issues?"

She continued glaring at him, hating him for the amusement still in his eyes, hating him for the shiver that danced up his spine as his low, gravelly voice teased her ears. She pushed recklessly on anyway, not caring that he really wasn't someone she should be angering or baiting like this. "Yes, stalker issues! What, did you think I hadn't noticed the way you're always staring at me, the way you're always listening to every conversation I have?" She narrowed her eyes at him. "It's _weird_, Vegeta. Maybe that's never occurred to you, but I'm not putting up with it anymore!" Her eyes narrowed, though the glitter of fury remained. "You wouldn't stare at me like that if you weren't planning something, but it's not going to work, whatever it is, so you can just take your evil plan and shove it someplace where the sun doesn't shine. I'm not going to fall for it."

He took a step towards her, the corner of one lip edging upwards in another smirk. He didn't miss the fact that she'd stepped back, involuntarily moving until the table was at her back and she could go no further. There was such a predatory glint in his eye that she couldn't help herself… "And what," he growled, sending a whole troop of shivers her way, "do you think I'm planning?"

She couldn't answer. He had taken another step, and another, and now he was standing so close to her that she could smell the sweat mingling with the uniquely masculine scent that was him. Her eyes had widened, a fear that had nothing whatsoever to do with his strength pooling in her stomach. "I dunno," she snapped, trying her best to keep her uneasiness from her voice. She thought she succeeded, this time. "Maybe you're planning to attack me in my sleep, get revenge for every time I've ever talked back to you, for every time I wouldn't put up with your holier-than-thou attitude. Maybe you're just planning to kill me because you can. It won't be the first time you've tried, now will it?"

She hadn't expected Vegeta to take her seriously, but whatever she'd thought his reaction would be, he certainly didn't give it. He only continued watching her, dark eyes as unreadable as always. "If I'd planned to kill you," he told her bluntly, "you'd already be dead."

She glared at him, knowing perfectly well that it was true. As fast as Vegeta was, there was no way anybody would ever come to her rescue in time. Still, it was rude of him to point that out. "You think I don't know that? You've been threatening me on a regular basis ever since you moved in, Vegeta. Really, I got the message." She rolled her eyes, annoyed and almost forgetting to be scared now that she'd remembered how irritating he was. "Dende, I don't know why Goku had such a hard time defeating you. You're so bloody _predictable."_

There was a long moment of silence, and then his lips thinned. "You're not afraid of me, are you?" he asked, and something in his tone had her narrowing her eyes, even if she didn't know exactly what was setting her on edge.

"Of course not," she grunted, unflinchingly returning his coal-black gaze. "Why should I be scared of you? You may be able to kill me, but we both know you're not going to do anything. You can't."

He scowled, all trace of amusement completely gone, swamped beneath the arrogant challenge in her voice. Vegeta never had liked being challenged, and he certainly wasn't going to accept one from a simple human female. "Why not? Because that worthless human mate of yours would come after me?" His scowl deepened, and he lifted his arms, gripped the counter on either side of Bulma, essentially trapping her. Bulma only blinked back at him, startled as the heat radiating from his body sunk into her.

_He's so close. When has he ever willingly gotten this close to me?_

Her surprise must not have shown on her beautiful features, because Vegeta only pushed on, pressing his face even closer to hers. "Don't make me laugh," he told her, and the cockiness in his stance would have been enough to make her angry, even if she hadn't been already.

Bulma wasn't one to be intimidated that easily, and his mockery of Yamcha was only making her irritation with him grow. She could put up with Vegeta's scorn of _her _easily enough, but she wasn't about to sit back and let him deride the cheerful warrior she'd loved since she was a teenager. She grinned maliciously, momentarily ignoring his closeness. She could feel his breath mingling with hers, but she honestly didn't care. _Two can play at this game, monkey-boy. _"No," she said, voice surprisingly sweet, "because I'd send my _mother _after you. Even if she didn't blame you for hurting me, she'd follow you around for _years, _bawling her head off all the while. Knowing you'd have to listen to that would be revenge enough, monkey-boy."

It shouldn't have been such a great threat, but it was enough to silence Vegeta. He knew, just as Bulma did, that her mother's crying was not something any sane man would want to inflict upon himself. The woman's sobs were often so shrill that only the dogs could usually hear them when she really got going, but as sensitive as Vegeta's hearing was, it was nothing short of torture for him. Even he, hardened killer that he was, would have done just about anything to keep Bulma's mother happy and so avoid that kind of pain.

Vegeta's face hadn't changed, but he wasn't saying anything in response to that, either, and Bulma knew she'd just won the argument. She pushed past him, deciding that she probably couldn't risk sticking around to gloat over her success. Vegeta wasn't as smart as she was—nobody was, really—but he was smart enough that he'd eventually think of a way to get back at her. She'd just as soon not be around when he did. She shoved at his chest, only a little surprised when he didn't resist, and bent to gather her purchases off the floor. She ignored the broken things, knowing the robots would take care of it and not wanting to stick around Vegeta for that long anyway. She might not have been as afraid of him as she should have been, after all, but that didn't mean she was stupid enough to stay with him when he was in one of his moods…

He continued to glare at her as she gathered her purchases, though she wasn't exactly surprised when he didn't offer to help. Still, as she gripped the last package in her slender fingers, she suddenly stood and faced him. She took a step forward, and then another, steeling herself inside as she pushed her face as close to his as it had been before. "You," she told him, voice clear and calm and absolutely controlled, "are a _schmuck." _

She turned and left the room, not caring that he was still watching her with those dark eyes of his, not realizing that the tiniest smile was tugging at the corner of his lips…

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**Reader Responses:**

**Sassy-Chan: **Well of course he's in love with her! There wouldn't be much point to a Vegeta-Bulma fic if he wasn't! And, yes, we're all waiting for him to get jealous enough to rip Yamcha apart. I mean, there's nothing overtly wrong with Yamcha...but we're all waiting for Vegeta to kill him. Maybe one day I'll figure out why that is.

I'm sorry I didn't send Veggie shopping. I just couldn't do it. Maybe next time. As always, beloved Sassy, thanks for reading!

**anonymous: **Will do. Thanks for reading.

**Samantha: **Thanks. I appreciate the compliment.

**animeObsessed: **Thanks for reading, though I'm sorry to disappoint you about the shopping trip. Maybe next time.

**Liz: **Why thank you! You're compliments were incredibly inspiring. I absolutely love hearing from you, though your words are making my ego swell even more than it already was. Until next time, blessed reader!

**Nittie iz: **The makings of a classic, eh? Well, maybe I should take this more seriously, then! Or maybe not. This really is just a fluff piece. Don't expect intelligence, because you won't get it. Mindless mushiness is more likely. Thanks for the compliments, though! I hope to hear from you again.

**Mazza: **Detailed? Can fluff be detailed? I'm glad you liked it, though, and I hope you stay with me!

**keshia: **I'll do my best. Anything to make a fan happy!

**Krissy**: Yes, and isn't Veggie pretty when he's jealous? Maybe he'll do something drastic if I provoke himenough. I don't know about you, but I'm looking forward to it! Thanks for reading, by the way. I loved hearing from you, and I really, really loved the compliments!

**Maria**: Well, I'm glad I didn't do the shopping thing, then. I still say there could havebeen some great moments, butit would havebored me, too. (Though I wouldn't have done the try-on-clothes or humiliate-Vegeta thing. That's silly, and it honestly didn'toccur to me. More like a Veggie-and-Bulma-spend-time-together-and-get-to-know-each-other thing, maybe.) Anyway, thanks for the input. I always appreciate honesty, and you're definately that!

**manga: **Thanks. I'm so glad you reviewed!

**KuroKitsune**:Not half bad? Why thank you! Still, I will continue to compliment you, because frankly my dear, you deserve it. And I have been reading your story, just so you know. It's wonderful and intelligent and funny, and I've been recommending it to everyone...but I haven't been reviewing, and I'm sorry. I just haven't had nearly as much free time as I used to, and taking the time to review every chapter isn't always an option for me. I apologize, because if anybody was worth the time, it's you. Until I get some free time, though, know that your story is pure genius!

**manga: **I know, and I'm sorry! I've been so busy that I haven't been updating much of anything. I hope I answered your question, at least. You got a whole paragraph in my author's notes, anyway, so that should count for something. Thanks for taking the time to review. I really loved hearing from you.

**Garowyn: **Me, too. Thanks for reading!


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